


Over My Shoulder

by MyckiMor



Series: As Sweet As This Is [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiMor/pseuds/MyckiMor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talia had always told Peter to walk away from unpleasant situations, not make them worse.</p><p>Note: Re-write in-progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by a wonderful prompt (thank you, Anon!), and 'Fascination Street' by the Cure (hence, the title).
> 
> Prompt: dude dude dude okay ive had this idea for a while but I cant write so if you are still doing prompts can you do a steter fic where mybe the pack, excluding stiles, gets thrown into an AU where stiles and peter are married and lovey and peter is pretty possessive and protective and the other peter is kind in awe cause that could be him and the rest of the pack feel awkward and yeah idk it sounds stupid when explaining

It wasn’t a matter of whether he and Stiles could get along, no. They were more mature than that, if only slightly. Well, at least Peter knew him _self_ to be. And, only if you didn’t ask for Derek’s opinion. Because – and, he would later hate himself for quoting Stiles on this – _screw Derek._

But, when the little shit came up with his _oh-so-witty_ little retorts (anything from ‘Can someone kill him again, please?’, to his latest favourite, ‘Can someone fucking muzzle the mutt?’), Peter could see where they needed to be separated.

Normally, when such a situation would arise, Peter would gather his jacket and make his exit. He had better things to do, more productive ways to spend his time than trying to help such an ungrateful little brat. Talia had always told him to walk away from unpleasant situations, not make them worse. For the most part, he had taken that advice to heart.

Not this time.

“Excuse us, Creeper,” Stiles threw out, dismissively, as he cut Peter off, mid-sentence. “This is where the normal, non-murderous folk work out a viable plan. Story time is over, now, Grandpa.”

Peter could have bit his tongue. He could have walked away. Hell, there were a dozen different ways that the older, more mature (no matter how questionable that was about to become) man could have handled the situation. But… You know how, in the movies, there is that one big, red button they always say not to touch?

Well, Launch Sequence: Activated.

Jumping up from his seat on Derek’s beat-up old couch, it took all of three strides for Peter to be in Stiles’ face. The boy’s surprise was evident, and Peter allowed himself a touch of smug satisfaction.

“Listen up, you little shit,” he barked out, thoroughly out of patience. “I’m trying to lend your uninformed asses a hand. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, but try, _try,_ Stiles, to have a _shred_ of respect for the fact that I don’t leave you floundering every time you need information.”

Stiles, along with everyone else in the room, stared at him, his sole target open-mouthed in shock. Derek crossed his arms over his chest, while Lydia turned her head away. Isaac tucked himself away behind everyone else, trying to appear as small as possible. It gave Peter a slight sense of guilt, one that he would deal with, later. But, no one said a word. How odd. Peter had honestly expected to be torn limb from limb, verbally, in Stiles’ defense. Still, _nothing._ Talk about surreal.

“Well, maybe, if we could trust a word that came out of your mouth-”

“Have I _ever_ – since coming back - lead you into a situation without all of the information, Stiles?” Peter interrupted, fuming. “Has there _ever_ been a time where you’ve come to me for help, and I let someone get hurt?” He paused. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait.”

Here, Stiles _did,_ in fact, flounder, in a most amusing way. Peter smirked, crossed his own arms in front of himself, unintentionally mirroring his nephew.

“Just as I thought. Now, get a handle on that mouth of yours, and we’ll be just fine.” It was a peaceable solution, Peter would come out on top (for once), and all would once again be right in the kingdom. Or, so Peter hoped. As he turned back for the couch, Stiles found his retort.

“Right. Because, I’m just supposed to take the advice of some psychopath.”

With a dangerous growl, Peter whipped back around, crowding Stiles up against the meeting table, one hand on either side of the boy’s body.

“And, I have no time left to help out a useless little _rugrat_ wanting to play _hero._ ”

Now, everyone _was_ moving his way. He yanked back, not missing the breathless, frightened expression on Stiles’ face. Turning his back to the group, Peter made a grab for his jacket. As usual, he had better things to do than sit here and listen to them get it _wrong._

“Stiles, wait!” Lydia called, suddenly, against the sounds of retreating footsteps. Stiletto heels were soon in hot pursuit, and Peter turned back in time to see Little Red rushing out the front door. Isaac looked antsy, ready to follow after them, when Derek grabbed his arm.

“Let them go, Isaac,” the Alpha ordered. Isaac looked at Derek as if he was crazy, to which he responded, “This is going to be a dangerous fight.” Pausing, Derek nodded toward the door. “They’re safer if they stay behind.” With that, he turned back to the open tomes and maps on the table. Isaac cast one last, longing gaze toward the open door, before returning his focus on the task at-hand.

Peter wasn’t listening, for good or bad. He glanced down at the jacket in his hands, mentally assessing what had just transpired. It was an interesting turn of events, to say the least. Perhaps, Talia had been right in telling him to keep his mouth closed. Then again, her son was also right. Stiles was safer at home.

Strange, how that was the thought he focused on.

 * * *

 Allison and Scott met them outside of Deaton’s clinic, where they had apparently worked out what they were after.

“Well, sort of,” Allison admitted, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Derek’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean, _sort of_?”

“Look,” Scott interjected, holding up a fistful of – were those – couldn’t be. Peter took a closer look, squinting at the little black pouches in the teenager’s hold. Sure enough, a collection of ta’wiz.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” All eyes fell on Peter, who nearly rolled his eyes. “Deaton’s got us after a damn _djinn?_ ”

Scott, deflated, shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well…” He lowered his arm. “ _Yeah_ … I mean, it’s the best thing we’ve got, okay?”

Peter didn’t argue it, partly because he didn’t have the energy, and the rest because, damn it, Scott was right. In an ‘Oh, my God, were we really this fucking _stupid?_ ' sort of a way, it made perfect sense. The police had dead bodies piling up like cords of wood (again), and no one to pin it on (as usual). No evidence left behind. No real pattern to the murders. And, everyone with an ax to grind against any one of the victims came up perfectly clean. Granted, they'd suspected the paranormal, all along, but… _This_ was a bit of a curve ball.

They piled into Allison’s SUV, Lovebirds up front, Hales (one of honorable mention) in the back. Before Allison could get them on the road, Scott turned around in his seat, a confused expression on his face.

“Hey, where’s Stiles?”

Peter _finally_ rolled his eyes. Some best friend _he_ was. “He’s with Lydia,” Peter supplied, instead. “Furthering our research.” Nevermind the part where he’d stormed out in a snit after another acidic exchange of words with the eldest member of their shamble of a pack. For the record, that wasn’t guilt that Peter had been feeling, afterward, either. Because, hey, that little brat was an expert at being a total user and a sarcastic bitch, all rolled into one. He got what information he could out of Peter, then went back to acting like he was a complete hindrance to his way of human life. Last time Peter checked, that wasn’t the way you thanked people.

Still, had he _really_ called the boy _useless?_ Was that a bit harsh?

As she rounded a corner, Allison scoffed. “Is _that_ what they call it?” Scott chuckled, and Derek frowned.

“It was safer that they stayed behind,” the Alpha continued.

Scott raised his hands, righting himself in his seat. “Hey, no arguments here.”

 _None here, either,_ Peter thought. Something tingled down his spine as he considered what they were all about to walk into. If this really was a djinn, he wished they could all be safe at home.

 * * *

It was the worst fucking mistake they could have made, leaving the ta’wiz in the car. It was his own damned fault for opening his mouth, pointing out that they probably wouldn’t even work, given that one was supposed to hold belief in the power of Allah if they sought protection. He _sure_ as hell didn’t buy into religion of _any_ sort, and that left the little bundle on a string as just another object to be used to strangle him with. They could have told themselves that it would hold water, sure, but, in the end, he and Derek had left the amulets behind. Isaac had left his own around his neck, as had Allison (and, hey, she needed all the support she could get, so far as Peter was concerned, being at a slight disadvantage as she was). Scott’s _had_ been in his pocket, but, it didn’t look like that was about to matter.

What they were facing… wasn’t what they had been expecting.

“Who are you?” Derek asked the woman in front of them. “Are you the djinn?” There was no verbal response. She tilted her head to one side, brow furrowed as if she had no idea what was being said to her. Derek growled. “Why are you here?” Still, she said nothing. Her focus shifted around the room, gaze casting over each person, in-turn, before finally landing on Peter. Her eyes seemed to widen, a fraction, making Peter more than slightly uncomfortable. When people looked at him like that, bad things tended to happen. Again, in the background, Derek growled, but the woman remained focused on the older Hale.

She wasn’t a threatening sight, not by any means, average height, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and skin as pale as a porcelain doll. There was nothing abnormal about her style of dress, a pair of blue jeans and a plaid shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. If this was a djinn, Peter would kiss the fucking Sheriff (and, wouldn’t Stiles just _love_ that?). Still, there was something about her he didn’t trust. As she took a slow step toward him, hands fisted at her sides, that distrust started waving a bright red flag.

“Uhm,” he began, not his most eloquent moment. “You might take an interest in answering my nephew. See, he gets _really testy_ about people ignoring him. Bit of a _prima donna,_ that one.”

Another step, and the woman stopped. Her eyes once again scanned each person in the room, before falling back on Peter. Her expression twisted, as if pained, and Peter felt a slight panic begin to rise inside of him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and, before anyone knew what happened, she raised one arm, opened her fist, and blew a grainy substance in Peter’s face. He barely had time to register the attack before darkness overtook him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was pretty sure he hadn’t drank himself into enough of a stupor over his latest spat with Stiles to have hallucinated the unassuming young woman in the abandoned house. What the hell had she done?

When he came to, Peter groaned against the sunlight he found streaming into his face. He raised an arm to shield his eyes, blinking away the spots that crowded his vision. Once he could see (damn it), he had a look around. A cursory examination revealed that he was outside, seated on the grass, back to a large tree. A very familiar tree, at that. Huh. Where the hell was he, anyway?

Furthermore, what the hell had happened? He was pretty sure he hadn’t drank himself into enough of a stupor over his latest spat with Stiles to have hallucinated the unassuming young woman in the abandoned house. That, or the dust she had thrown in his face. What the hell had she done?

“Oh, she got you, too, huh?”

Peter jerked his head up, to see both Scott and Derek standing over him. Neither looked terribly impressed, a feeling to which he could easily relate.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he grumbled, using the tree for support as he stood to his feet. The unsteady wobble of his legs was something he didn’t much care for. Brushing his hands against his jeans, Peter took another, more attentive look around. They were on the edges of a small clearing in… some woods… somewhere. Gee, that was nice. “Any idea where we are?”

Derek sighed. “Not a damn clue.”

To that, Peter scoffed. “ _Helpful._ ” His nephew pulled a face, and Peter quickly changed the subject. “Any idea what she did?”

“Again, no idea,” Derek replied, impatiently. “We just saw her blow that powder into your face, and then the rest of us went down for the count.”

“Which makes no sense,” Scott jumped in. “If we all got it, then, where are Allison and Isaac?” They all looked around, but there was no sign of the Beta or the Huntress. It was just the three of them, in some clearing, somewhere.

Oh, fan _tas_ tic.

“Well, I know one thing for sure,” Peter all but grumbled. “I don’t know who that little bitch was, but, when I see her, again, I’m gonna’-”

“You’ll what?”

All three men jolted, startled by the sudden appearance of (here, Peter grimaced) the assumed djinn. She looked at them clearly, not a hint of the earlier confusion on her face, as she leaned her hand against the tree once at Peter’s back.

“What did you do to us?” Derek barked. “Where are we? And, where are Isaac and Allison?”

The woman turned grey eyes on Derek. “Well, hello to you, too.” The only response was Derek’s unamused expression, and she sighed. “Right. So. You don’t recognize this place?” she asked, genuinely curious. Derek glared at her, and she shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t be _terribly_ surprised by that… After all, it has been a number of years…”

Scott frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The Hale house,” she continued, raising her voice, “used to stand just there.” She pointed across the clearing, toward a bright green spread of grass, dotted with yellow dandelions. “The city leveled it, of course. Tore out the foundation, and filled in the ground. The grass has only been growing for a year or so, now.” She paused, and smiled at Derek. “It looks nice, though, huh?”

Peter glanced around, fighting the urge to let his jaw hit the ground. _This_ was the Hale property? _This_ was what the city had done to their home? While he wasn’t going to argue that there was no salvaging the pile of bricks and scorched wood that had been left behind after the fire… It was as if his childhood home had never even existed. All there was left to show for it were a couple of weeds. Not even a scratch in the dirt remained, and this woman was talking about it as passively as the damn weather.

“Why bring us here?” Derek interrupted, angrily. “What do you want?”

At this, the woman crossed her arms over her chest, and looked down to her shoes. Uncomfortable. Peter recognized the stance for what it was. Stiles did that… _a lot._ Mostly when he and Peter exchanged barbs. Here and now, it was Derek’s anger causing the problem.

“What’s your name?” Scott asked. Peter smirked. That was why the boy was going to make a hell of an Alpha, one day.

She looked up. “Vanessa,” she responded.

Scott nodded, once. “Well, Vanessa… We’re a little confused.” He swept his hand out in a grand gesture. “We don’t know where we are. Can you tell us that?”

Vanessa bit her lip for a moment, before nodding. “You’re… in a secondary reality…”

Peter blinked. “A what?”

“A secondary reality,” Vanessa repeated, gaze shifting to Peter. “ _You_ … You’re here for a reason.”

“What _reason_ is that?”

“To put it simply…” She paused, again shifting on her feet. “You have something weighing on your heart…”

All right, what the hell was she talking about? He voiced the same. “What are you talking about?” There were a lot of things Peter would admit to – going insane, killing his own kin, the items general knowledge – but, something weighing on his heart? Sounded like a long-shot. That would first imply that he had one still beating, to begin with. “That doesn’t answer our questions.”

“Oh, but, _it does,_ ” Vanessa insisted. “This place… It’s as much of my design as it is yours.” She looked at each man. “ _All_ of yours.” Receiving three near-lost stares in response, Vanessa sighed. “ _Fine._ Here it is for you guys, in black and white. You wouldn’t _be here_ if you didn’t have something to _learn._ ” She turned around, and started into the woods. “So, follow me, and I’ll show you. Telling you won’t work.” Likely assuming herself to be out of earshot, she grumbled, “I don’t think I’m allowed to do that, anyway.”

Meanwhile, a few paces back, the three men exchanged glances. They silently weighed their options between one another, before Peter started up the path behind Vanessa. As far as he was concerned, they had nothing to lose from this venture. Beyond that, what other choice did they have? If this little field trip would get them out of there, there was no way they could say ‘no’. The sooner they could get home, the sooner Peter could drink away the nagging feeling at the pit of his stomach.

* * *

They walked in silence for the better part of half a mile, before Vanessa finally sighed. “I want to apologize to you, gentlemen,” she said, loud enough for all three to hear. “I had no intentions of hurting you, from the start. You just… You caught me by surprise when you showed up.”

Peter scoffed. “I didn’t know it was that easy to surprise a djinn.”

Vanessa stopped dead in her tracks, turning around with a ‘what the hell are _you_ talking about?’ expression on her face. It quickly morphed to understanding, and she shook her head. “That would explain the ta’wiz.” She sighed, before continuing down the path. “Yeah, well, about that…”

“You’re not a djinn, are you,” Scott assumed.

Vanessa shook her head, once again. “Not exactly.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly? What does that mean?”

Vanessa sighed, and cleared her throat. “It’s a long story.”

“If you’re not a djinn, then, what are you?” While he was considerably relieved, this opened the door to new and unfortunate possibilities.

“Suffice it to say… I don’t think there’s a word for what I am.” Vanessa ducked under a low branch. “ _Watch that._ Wait, look at who I’m talking to.” She sighed. “I mean, I guess you could say ‘hybrid’. ‘Abomination’, maybe. I’ve heard both, before.” To that, Peter nearly frowned. He understood the concept, well enough, he was sad to say.

It wasn’t long before they were standing in front of a long, clear dirt path, an impressive white house visible just a short ways away. The shutters were black, as was the front door. Two stories, no garage, and wildflowers shooting up around the edges of the neatly-trimmed lawn. It looked like something out of a movie, the kind where happy families could gather together and celebrate happy times, so, there was _no way_ that whatever bullshit he apparently needed to learn would be found _here._

“There it is,” Vanessa announced, a small smile on her face. “The new and much-beloved Hale house, the second.”

Well, _fuck._

* * *

The inside of the house was quite nice, Peter had to admit. Someone had gone to great lengths to color-coordinate every room. (He could see Lydia’s hand in it, there was no question). Peter looked at Derek, and smirked.

“Finally. A woman’s touch.” Derek wrinkled his nose, and Scott chuckled. “So, where’s this lesson we’re supposed to learn?” Blue eyes glanced to Vanessa, awaiting an answer. The girl smiled, but shook her head.

“I have nothing to do with the rest of this. It’s all up to you.” She gestured across the entryway with one hand, before turning for the door. “When you’re done, I’ll be outside. Enjoy, gentlemen.” With that, Vanessa made her exit, leaving behind three slightly bewildered werewolves.

“So, uh… Where do we start?” Derek asked, looking around, unsure.

Scott shrugged. “I dunno’. She didn’t give us much to go on. I mean, if this is your place, Derek… ‘Alternate-reality style’… Are you already here? Are you taking the place of the you that’s _supposed to be_ here?”

Instead of answering, Derek pulled a face. “What the hell does Stiles have you watching?”

“Huh?” Scott looked genuinely confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I get what you mean,” Peter interrupted, attention turned to a small stand in the corner. Atop the wood sat a standard-size picture frame, the image inside catching his attention. He took a step closer, but kept talking. “If we’ve just been dropped into, as you say, an alternate reality, where we already exist, does that mean that we will ultimate run into ourselves? Or, will we have to take the place of these versions of ourselves, until such a time that we can leave.” There was silence behind him, and Peter glanced over his shoulder. “Stiles really _does_ like to leave his movies behind, after your group nights.”

Derek sighed, but nodded. “Okay. So, what do you think we should do about-.” A sharp creak interrupted the younger Hale’s sentence. “Somebody’s here.”

They all paused, and had a listen. The house was fairly quiet, a little bit of scuffling going on overhead, and a couple of voices down the hallway. Derek pointed upward. “I’ll check out the second level. Scott, go left. Peter, take the right. If anybody finds anything…” He shrugged, and started for the stairs. Scott nodded to Peter, before taking off down the hallway to the left. That left Peter standing in the middle of the entrance, debating whether to follow Derek’s instructions, until-

“Damn it, Peter! I told you, already, so, _knock it off!_ ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to them. Move to a different reality, and they’re still arguing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m likely to re-write much of this chapter, but, it was irking me that I haven’t updated in so long. So, please, pardon Peter’s, erm… Well, you’ll see what I mean. Enjoy! :)!

Chapter Three

 

“Damn it, Peter! I told you, already, so, _knock it off!_ ”

Peter jerked his head up, looking around for the source of the voice. _That voice._ There was no mistaking it for anyone, but-

“Stiles, I'm serious! Don't walk away from me!”

Peter rolled his eyes. No mistaking _that voice,_ either. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when Stiles stalked by him, completely unaware of his presence, followed closely by, well... _himself._ It was odd for all of, oh, half a second, before his brain caught up with the fact that, hey, nothing about this was normal. Might as well roll with it.

“You need to let it go,” Stiles griped, stomping his way into the kitchen. “You don't get to tell me what to do.”

Peter rolled his eyes, listening to the two bicker back and forth. Turning on his heel, he followed them to the next room. Leave it to them. Move to a different reality, and they're _still arguing._

“I'm not telling you what to do,” Peter heard himself counter, the other one holding up his hands in front of the younger man. Stiles glared back at him, eyes shining. Hands still in the air, Peter curled his fingers down, before lowering his arms. Something in his expression shifted, and he frowned. “Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm sorry.”

Stiles sniffled, once. “ _No, you're not._ You're not sorry. You're _never sorry._ ” He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his plaid over shirt, shuffling his feet a little in the process. “And, I know you're not happy, but, I can't just stay here while Scott goes off and does something dangerous.”

Clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Peter sighed. “That's exactly what I'm talking about. I don't want you going out where you could get hurt, Stiles.” He reached up, and brushed his thumb against Stiles' cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped down his face. “Babe, I almost lost you, the last time.”

“But, you _didn't._ ”

“And, do you really think I want to go through that, again?” Peter sighed, taking Stiles' face into the both of his hands. “I don't want to risk it... Or, worry about you... I know I can't protect you for forever, but...” He leaned down, brushing their noses together. “ _Stiles, I love you._ If I lost you, I don't know what I'd do.”

For a moment, Stiles looked as though he might pull away. Instead, he wrapped his hands around Peter's, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, too... I just...”

“I know. _I know._ I'm not trying to be a complete asshole, here,” Peter whispered, nuzzling Stiles' cheek. “But, we have so much more to think about, now, than we ever did... Family, friends, home... _Each other_...”

Stiles nodded, before stealing another kiss from Peter's lips. He looked up into Peter's eyes, apology written all across his expression. “ _I'm sorry,_ ” he murmured, shaking his head. “But, I can't leave Scott to his own devices on this one.” With that, Stiles slipped from Peter's grasp, and hurried back out of the kitchen.

“Stiles!” Peter shouted, not making to follow the younger man, only turning around toward the doorway. “Stiles!” When no answer came, the older man growled, spinning himself back 'round, and ramming a fist straight into one of the kitchen cabinets. He hissed in pain, and shook his hand out, a little. The expression on his face shifted from rage, to thoughtful, to hurt so fast that the viewer in the doorway nearly missed the changes. There was a brief pause as Peter stared down at his healing knuckles, before he covered his face with his hands, and whispered out, “ _Jesus Christ, Stiles, don't get hurt_...”

Back in the doorway, Peter couldn't be entirely sure, but, he was fairly certain that he was floored. Confused, and floored. What in the blue hell had that been about? Of course, he understood the part about himself (yup, still odd) wanting to stop Stiles from doing something dangerous. But, what the hell? Since when did _he care_ that the little shithead was doing something dangerous? Thinking back to the boy's departure from Derek's loft, that same evening, he flinched. Right. He'd been pretty settled that Stiles was out of harm's way. He'd look at that, later.

Presently, there was a heavy weight settled against his chest. That had been about so much more than 'learning a lesson', he was sure. It was more than the fact that Stiles was running head-first into an unsafe situation. It was more than a petty argument, or a condescending comment. He'd been staring at two people who were at-odds, yes, but undeniably in love with one another. Now, he was left looking at himself, hurt and heartbroken over a _stupid fucking_ **kid.** The same kid that he'd been treating like shit for, oh, the last three or four years, now. An uncomfortable feeling settled into his stomach. _Damn it._

No matter how badly Peter wanted to ignore it, the rational part of him knew that there was something here – _right here –_ that he needed to understand. To _get._ Between the 'I'm sorry's and the 'I love you's and the damned _pet names,_ he would find what he was dropped here for. Something beyond an alternate world where he was making time with Stiles Stilinski. One thing was for certain, though. He wasn't going to find his answers by staring at himself, wallowing in anger and worry. It was almost unsettling, watching himself come apart in a way that he'd never remembered experiencing, before. It looked as though it hurt like hell, like his instincts were going crazy.

Over _Stiles._

It seemed to happen all at once for him, then. The hamster got on the wheel, the light bulb came on, and a smirk crossed the werewolf's lips. _Of course._

Turning on his heel, Peter turned back for the front door. There was definitely more to this.

 

* * *

 

There was a light breeze sweeping across the grass when Peter stepped back onto the porch, warm movement playing with the daffodils in a gentle sway, and giving life to the old plank swing that still hung from the willow tree across the lawn. He'd played on that swing as a child, Peter recalled, Talia giving him careful, measured pushes, yelling at him when he would give himself more momentum, swinging too high and jumping to the ground from the highest point. She'd claimed that he would be what sent her to an early grave. The thought had Peter swallowing, hard. If only she could have been around to see this...

“Did you find anything... interesting, in there?”

Coming back to the here and now, Peter glanced down to where Vanessa sat on the front steps. The breeze was having a bit of fun with her hair, as well, it seemed, tossing the long strands this way and that. She hardly seemed bothered by it, staring out over the property with a fond expression on her features. Peter knew that look, remembered it with deep ache that rose up from his chest.

“This is your home, isn't it?” he asked, ignoring her question, though already knowing the answer to his own. Taking a seat beside the girl, Peter leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of himself. He listened for a change in her heartbeat, mostly out of habit, unsurprised to find nothing when she finally responded.

“Yes,” Vanessa sighed, “it is. I've lived here for... Well, since I was brought home from the clinic.” She glanced back at the front door, giving it a thorough look, and a soft smile. “My Dad helped rebuild it...”

Peter watched Vanessa for a moment, letting his next question sit on his tongue for a moment longer than he cared to admit. What he was so afraid of, he couldn't say for sure. He was on to something, and he knew as much, but... How much was he really, and truly prepared to _know?_

“You're a Hale.” It's wasn't a question, much as he had intended for it to be. He kept as straight a face as he could, as Vanessa turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Peter narrowed his eyes, observing, “You have my sister's nose.”

Almost immediately, Vanessa wiggled her nose, and looked back toward the path. “Not the first time I've heard that.” Peter wasn't sure if that was meant to be defensive, so he didn't take it to be. “I've been told I'm stubborn, like her, too.”

Peter smirked. “Is that so?”

There was a pause, before Vanessa nodded her head. “My Mother is _particularly fond_ of reminding me.”

_Mother, huh,_ Peter suddenly found himself considering. “You said there wasn't a word for what you were, besides _hybrid,_ or _abomination,_ right?” He waited for her confirmation, before continuing. “I'm assuming that's because one of your parents is human?”

Again, Vanessa nodded. “My Dad is, yeah. Mom's... Decidedly _not._ ”

_Ah,_ Peter thought, with a nod. _That fills the rest in, quite nicely._ “Cora?”

Vanessa hesitated, before drawing in a deep breath, and holding it. Peter was holding his own, right beside her. “No... Cora is my cousin, actually.”

It wasn't as startling a revelation to his system as Peter would have expected it to be. Blowing out the breath that he had held, he looked at individual sat beside him, _really looked_ at her. Her posture didn't speak to being particularly uncomfortable around him, neither did her scent. The only telling action was in her fingers, which kept reaching up to twist the studs in her ears. Brush back her hair. Tug on the collar of her shirt. She didn't even seem aware of it, just a random tick, like she couldn't keep herself still. The corner of Peter's mouth twitched into a half-smile.

“You're part Stilinski, too, aren't you?” Vanessa jerked her head up, eyes wide. Unable to help it, Peter smiled. “ _I figured as much._ You have some of his traits.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I do? Like, what?”

“Well, for starters... When we met up with you, back in the field? When Derek got a little forceful, you kind of... Well, you cringed. Stiles does that.” He paused, and considered the other similarities. “ _A lot._ You were pretty damned vague, at the start of all of this, too. Not giving away too much, keeping us guessing.” He cut her a bit of a glare, then. “Or, like me, completely in the damned _dark._ ” Vanessa looked away, a bit of colour coming to her cheeks. “And, that, _right there._ ” Peter raised a hand, pointing at her face. “When he gets flustered, or caught on to, he goes pink. _And,_ he fidgets, just like you're doing, right there.”

Glacing down, Vanessa saw where her hand was fiddling with the bracelet on her opposite wrist, promptly cutting it out with an irritated look. “Yeah? Well, you-You babble, like he does, too. Talking about him, constantly. Every damned detail.” Her eyes widened, once again, and she folded her lips into her mouth, as if having said something she shouldn't have. “ _Sorry._ Uncle Scott hasn't learned how to watch his mouth, even now.”

“ _I'm sure that I'd forgive it._ ” Peter blinked. Would he, really? He couldn't be sure. Honestly, he had zero idea what kind of a family this girl had. Was she going stir-crazy, listening to her parents bicker and argue and threaten to walk out on one another? Was she raised with love, affection, and a guiding hand? A harsh one? Had she hated them? Loved them?

“Your heartbeat is going crazy,” she commented, glancing down at her shoes, and effectively pulling Peter back to their conversation. “And, for the record, yeah. Yeah, you would.” She smirked. “Dad, not so much.”

Reigning himself back in, Peter glanced out over the front lawn, one last time. He took a deep breath, taking the crisp, clean air of the property into his lungs, holding it there for a second or two longer than was absolutely necessary.

“What kind of a parent am I?” he asked, a nervous flutter rising in the pit of his stomach.

Vanessa smiled. “The kind I wouldn't trade for the world.”


End file.
